The One Where Mary Gets Involved
by keeptheotherone
Summary: In the months since Sherlock and Molly chose friendship over love, he's increased his caseload and she's ticking off her bucket list faster than a terminal cancer patient. Now Sherlock's back from abroad, Molly's in ballet, Josie's crawling, and John says it's all fine. With two friends literally dancing around each other and a secret identity to hide, what's an ex-assassin to do?


A/N: So, it turns out I have the first chapter and thought "why not?" This is the sequel to _The One Where Sherlock Sleeps With Molly_ -or at least, it will be when I finish writing it. Consider this a teaser trailer with premiere date TBD ;) Note this is S3 compliant but not TAB/S4. Rating might change; I'll let you know if that happens.

* * *

The first thing Sherlock noticed was Molly's arse.

She was bent over John and Mary's kitchen island with her elbows braced on the bench and her rounded arse pointing towards the front door. It was neither covered by a lab coat nor swathed in extra fabric, and Sherlock decided these unusual features were what drew his eye.

It certainly wasn't anything about the woman herself.

The previous owners of John and Mary's terrace had knocked down a few walls, so immediately upon entering the house Sherlock was visible from the kitchen through the diner and the lounge beyond. Mary called his name as soon as he stepped away from the door.

"Sherlock!"

At his name Molly stood up and spun round, a half-bitten strawberry in one hand.

The second thing Sherlock noticed was her gorgeous chestnut hair, though down, did not fan out around her.

Molly's face lit with delight. "Sherlock! You're back!"

She took a half step forward in what he knew was an impulse to hug him before restraining herself and offering him the colander of berries instead.

"Hungry?"

Of course he was hungry. He'd shown up unannounced at mealtime. But he had bigger concerns than his empty stomach and Molly's love of the obvious.

"You cut your hair." It was all choppy and pointed, with the longest strands just brushing her collarbones.

"I did. Do you like it?" She turned in a circle to give him the full effect.

That was new. Molly had never invited his opinion on her appearance (which of course hadn't prevented Sherlock from giving it). But since he had her permission, he studied her openly. Her hair was shorter in the front, exposing the line of her jaw. Her long fringe (she hadn't had any fringe before) emphasized the cheekbones turning a delicate shade of pink under his scrutiny but tended to hide her eyes. The color was the same, and it looked as soft and silky as ever.

"Well?" Molly demanded.

This confidence was definitely new.

"I don't know." She looked … not Molly.

But not bad, either.

"I think it's adorable," Mary said, transferring a pan from the cooker to the worktop, pouring its contents over meat she'd already laid out in a dish. "Perfect for summertime."

Molly pushed the strawberries to the corner of the island nearest him and took another one, adding its stem to the sizable pile beside her.

The third thing Sherlock noticed was how the strawberries stained Molly's thin lips a natural red.

"John's upstairs putting Josie to bed," Mary said, answering his unasked question. "How was the case?"

Sherlock scowled and took a handful of berries. What had started out as an international kidnapping, drug ring, and antiquities theft all rolled into one had turned out to be a two-bit dealer with a romantic streak and a gambling problem. Unfortunately, it had taken three weeks in the jungles of Ecuador to discover there was no kidnapping and no cursed treasure.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why, what happened?" Molly said, her forehead wrinkled in concern.

Sherlock gave her a look.

"Right, you don't want to talk about it. Sorry." Another berry. "Mary is cooking for me," she said brightly.

"I can see that."

"She's doing me a favor later."

"Then shouldn't you be cooking for her?"

Molly scoffed.

"What? You can cook." Sherlock added his strawberry stems to Molly's pile.

"Only because your standards don't exceed that of the average undomesticated bachelor."

"I said I'd help Molly with her online dating profile."

Mary's smile was genuine but her eyes held a warning, and Sherlock understood he was to be sociable if he wanted to be fed.

He missed Ecuador already.

()()()()

John started the dishwasher and glanced over at his best friend, sprawled across the sofa shoved up against the wall of the side extension. It didn't really fit there, stuck against an outside wall like an afterthought, but it didn't fit anywhere else in the house, either. Mary was unreasonably attached to it, refusing to bin, sell, donate, or even re-cover it, and so it remained in the kitchen despite its awkward size and baby-magnet whiteness. Even Sherlock wasn't putting his feet up on it.

"You could help, you know," John said, sinking down opposite him. That was the other thing he didn't like about this sofa; it ate people.

"The kitchen is spotless."

John tilted his head towards Mary and Molly seated with Molly's laptop at the island in front of them. "I meant Molly's profile. You could help make sure she's not accidentally attracting crazy stalker boyfriends."

"Or psychopathic consulting criminals?"

John ignored the Moriarty reference. This was a big deal. Molly hadn't dated anyone in the year since she broke her engagement with Not Sherlock, as John always referred to Tom in his head, and John was determined Sherlock was not going to spoil this for her. He wasn't even supposed to be here tonight; he was supposed to be an ocean and a continent away, making a storm in a teacup over a simple missing persons case.

"You could do your social media thing. Deduce her from her profile and see if it's accurate."

"She has to actually write it first."

John glanced at the two women again, who were debating the sexual connotations of _passionate_ when used to describe a hobby.

"Fair point. Still … it's what a friend would do."

"Is it?" Sherlock's tone was careless, but he shifted positions, closing off his body language—knees together, arms crossed.

"Since you're so determined to be just friends." Irrationally determined, in John's opinion, considering the woman in question was attractive, kind, generous, and seemed to actually enjoy Sherlock's company.

"I am not—whatever."

John didn't argue, just pulled out his phone and started a new game of Words with Friends. Sherlock's phone beeped three times before he spoke.

"Why would a friend assist another in a pointless endeavor at a romantic relationship that will inevitably come to an end in tears and pain? How is enabling that process _friendly_?"

John turned _at_ into _atrium_ with perhaps more force than required on a device without buttons.

"Because if you do it right, the relationship doesn't end."

"So the tears and pain continue. My question stands."

John sighed. "Sherlock—" His phone dinged and he looked at the screen. Nothing. He had nothing. "Just because Mary and I—" He dropped his voice, remembering Molly still didn't know the details. "Just because Mary and I had a rocky first year of marriage doesn't mean there haven't been good times. It doesn't mean we're not happy now, or we weren't happy before."

" 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?" His sneer was epic, even for Sherlock.

"Yes. Yes, it is, and if you care at all about Molly, you'll help her with this. Or at least not ruin it for her."

"Because that's what friends do."

"Yes, that's what friends do. They help each other with things the other person considers important, and this is important to Molly. She wants a family."

Sherlock stared at the two women, now discussing profile pics. "That's why Mary is helping?"

"Mary is helping because Molly asked, but she tried to dissuade her first." John pretended to study the gameboard, hoping Sherlock's natural curiosity would give him an opening.

"Why?"

"Because Mary thinks Molly doesn't need to go online to date. She thinks there's someone in Molly's life already."

"Who?" Sherlock said, sitting upright.

John gave him a look.

"Oh." He relaxed back against the cushions, long fingers drumming on the sofa's arm. "Well, Mary is delusional."

"I don't think Mary is the delusional one."

()()()

"Sherlock, come here for a minute," Mary said, turning around to face him. "We need a male perspective."

Judging from Sherlock's scowl, John had told him enough to figure out her motive, but Sherlock unfolded himself from the sofa, coming to stand between her and Molly and looking down at Molly's laptop screen.

"Which of these do you think Molly should use as her profile pic? We can add others to her page, but this is the one everyone will see during a search."

"None. They're all false advertising."

"What?" Molly said, turning her gaze from Sherlock's face back to the photos on the screen. "What are you talking about? My glasses? That's not false advertising. I do wear them. Mary said they make me look professional."

"Your hair's long in all those photographs."

Mary's smile grew. She _knew_ Sherlock had a thing for long hair.

"Oh."

"Have you taken any pictures since you cut it?" he said.

Molly flipped screens in her photo software. "Just a selfie the day I had it done."

Mary looked at the photo she brought up—Molly in front of the stylist's mirror. "No, not that. Here." She stood up. "We'll take another one."

"What? Now? No, I— I'm not dressed for a photo."

"What's wrong with what you're wearing?" Sherlock said, using the excuse to eye her up and down.

Mary hadn't missed the way Molly had caught his attention when he first came into the house, either. Just because she hadn't spoken didn't mean she hadn't noticed him open her front door.

"There's nothing wrong with what she's wearing," Mary said. "You look really cute."

Molly had on a pair of skinny jeans that actually fit her petite frame and a boxy black tee with white daises crocheted on the edges of the sleeves and hem.

"Come on." Mary grabbed her wrist and pulled her off the stool, then began towing her towards the back garden.

"You could use some lipstick."

Sensing the tension in the room increase, Mary turned. Molly positively glared at Sherlock, while he responded with an innocent expression that wouldn't fool the sleeping baby upstairs.

"Sherlock." John's voice was exasperated but calm, the tone he used when he felt obligated to protest but held no hope of an actual change in behavior.

"Since you asked for a—what was it?" Sherlock paused for effect, since they all knew he remembered Mary's words. "A male perspective." A fake smile.

"He is right," Mary said apologetically. "What do you have in your handbag?"

()()()()

Later that evening, Mary closed the door behind her husband's best friend. "I told you so!"

"What?" John said absently, already flicking through channels on the telly.

Mary snatched the clicker out of his hand. "Sherlock fancies Molly!"

"Yes, I know."

"What? What do you mean, 'I know'?"

"It's been obvious for a while now that he's attracted to her. Well, maybe not obvious to everyone, but—"

"So, what have you done about it?" Mary demanded, hands on hips.

"Done?" John looked baffled.

"Yes, what have you done to encourage him?"

"Mary—" John stood and took the clicker out of her hand, tossing it back into the basket where it belonged. "This is Sherlock we're talking about. He doesn't do relationships, and he most certainly doesn't do romance. He's made that abundantly clear on a multitude of occasions. Even if he does fancy her, he won't do anything about it."

"Yeees, which is why we need to do something about it."

"You just spent the better part of an evening helping Molly start dating other people."

Mary waved away this pesky detail. "They're perfect for each other."

"Mary." John took her hands in his, resisting her attempts to pull herself free at his patronizing tone. "No, I'm serious," he insisted, weaving his fingers through hers and gripping them firmly. "You weren't here a few years ago when they started working together. You haven't seen Sherlock insult, and manipulate, and take advantage of her. I have, and I don't want that for Molly. She deserves better. Besides, they had their chance after Christmas, and Sherlock wouldn't take it."

"He was just scared. He doesn't treat her like that anymore."

"He did tonight," John said quietly.

"The lipstick comment?"

He nodded.

Mary knew she could get more details about that from Molly, so she let it slide. "He was remarkably tactful about her hair," she pointed out.

John sighed, dropping her hands and turning to throw some of Josie's toys back in her playpen. "It won't last. He doesn't like it, and it will come out sooner rather than later."

"See, that's exactly what I mean!" Mary said, picking up the baby blanket he'd draped over the pen's side and folding it properly. "He wouldn't have an opinion if he didn't care."

"Sherlock has an opinion on everything."

Mary gripped the edge of the playpen. "You saw them in the lab that day, and when he first came in tonight—they have chemistry, you can't deny that."

"Yes, I did—and when Sherlock was in hospital, and countless times since then working cases in the morgue or the lab or even at a crime scene. After they slept together I thought there might be a chance. But Sherlock didn't take it, Mary. He deliberately steered them back to friendship, and Molly's finally accepted that and is moving on with her life. It's his choice."

Well, if John wouldn't get involved … then Mary would.


End file.
